


A Tree of Secrets

by Writing01



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bobby Singer really needs a drink and a vacation, Castiel is confused by everything, Dean Winchester is Michael the Archangel, Dean Winchester is Powerful, Dean Winchester is Protective, Dean Winchester is an Archangel, Gen, Sam Winchester is Tired of Dean Winchester's antics, Sam Winchester is angsty and guilty, Sam Winchester is mad at Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-05-31 14:18:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19427677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writing01/pseuds/Writing01
Summary: Michael the Archangel of Heaven, has secrets. The secrets spin and climb and grow and shrink like a tree. The secrets underground have built up and up into the main secret, and the main secret goes up and up into branches and leaves and seeds.This is all fine and dandy as everyone has secrets, but Michael's secrets happens to be a bit bigger than most.The main secret? Michael is and has always been Dean Winchester.The root secrets? Lucifer and Gabriel ripped up his Grace and flung it into the galaxy.Even worse? All their memories were wiped so only God, Lucifer, and Michael know.Now, Dean Winchester, or rather Michael the Archangel, has to find a way to break the secret to the world without losing everything and everyone he cares about.Clock's a-ticking too, Lucifer is on the way to telling the truth before Dean does, and Dean knows that if things go that way, his life will be never be salvaged.





	1. A Lifetime Built on Lies, and the Day they Began to Break; Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya, Writing01 here!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own or make money off of Supernatural and none of these characters are mine. Warner Bros. owns them.
> 
> This is my first published fiction and so I apologize if I missed any etiquette.
> 
> Please email me if there are plot holes, grammar mistakes, or spelling errors I missed because that's really embarrassing and I would rather not show the world how much of a dumb-dumb I am. Well, more than I already do. I hope you have a lovely day.
> 
> ALSO! I update every Thursday. If it's not Thursday, then Tuesday. One or the other, sometimes both.
> 
> And as always, my email is writing.green.prompts@gmail.com, and I encourage you to send me thoughts and questions. If you want to tell me my story is horrible and it's what they force people to read in hell, please do! If you want to tell me my story is decent, please do!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set before Castiel is killed by a bunch of leviathans.

**FOUR DAYS AFTER THE BREAKING**

* * *

**_The Tablet of the Archangel Michael_ **

**\--- HERE IS A FACT ---**

**The story you know is false.**

**\--- HERE IS ANOTHER FACT---**

**My name is Dean Winchester.**

**Or, if you want the truth, Michael.**

**Yes, I am writing my own tablet;**

**Metatron is an idiot** **and I would not trust him with a speck of dust. Even if I did, he's been gone for millennia.**

**\--- SOME ADDITIONAL INFORMATION---**

**My siblings are the Host of Heaven.**

**The only sibling I really care about anymore is not a part of the Host. He is a mortal.**

**His name is Samuel Winchester, named for his grandfather.**

**His mother is Mary; his father is John.**

**If any permanent and everlasting harm comes to him, permanent and everlasting harm will come to his assailant.**

In the beginning of it all, God created the archangels. I was first. My younger brother, Lucifer and I, are the strongest angels. It was just us for a few million years, us being God, the Darkness, and I. God told me one day that He would have another son. Lucifer came next, though back then, his name was Samael. A lot of people think Samael and Lucifer were two different angels, but in truth they were the same. 

God had us vow to love all of His creation as we love Him. This meant that Samael and I were to love each other and God and eventually the other angels equally. I agreed absolutely.

Since I was first, I guess you can consider me the rough draft. Samael was made with improvements. I had no spine and I was very deadpan. Samael was funny and brighter and defiant and joking. Perfect, in our Father’s eyes. I was not jealous. I loved them both because I swore to-- I was engineered to do all my father asked of me, so it did not matter to me that Samael was daddy’s favorite. 

God told us one day, that He would have another son. I accepted wholeheartedly, like a “good little soldier” as my other brother likes to call me, whereas defiant Samael, made to have a spine, made it known he was jealous. I didn’t blame him of course-- he was _made_ to have a spine, afterall, and I was made to forgive.

God loved Samael and decided, as a service to His kid, that He would make His next son, Raphael, considerably more _boring._ Less defiant, less intelligent, not as strong: like me except worse. And Samael was pleased. 

Gabriel was next. God had felt guilty about making Raphael dull, so He made Gabriel fun and playful and loving. A real joker. He looked up to Samael (which was very deliberate on God’s part), but Samael was still angry at the mere thought of being someone being like him, afraid of being replaced, perhaps. I guess you could say that Samael gave God the holy equivalent of the silent treatment. And as for Gabriel: his existence was a repeated pattern of looking up to and loving a brother who would never feel the same way for him.

That was the reason why God didn’t tell us about humanity until after He had made you, and made us swear to love you more than we loved anyone or anything else. Samael, still seething with anger, even millions of years after Gabriel had been created, was even angrier now that this had happened. He wouldn’t love the humans at all, and rather than just dealing with it, rather than trying to forgive Him and let go of the bitterness, rather than owning up to his feelings, he just told God that he couldn’t love anything more than he’d loved our Father, a very obvious lie given his nature.

God saw right through the act and threatened to cast out Samael. Samael pretended to relent and let his anger die, but he schemed away secretly. He thought that since God loved him most that He wouldn’t dare to cast him out, even if Samael did go against His word and break the vow he had made.

God knew Samael well, and told me to watch and follow him in secret. Eventually, I learned of the plan he’d created to poison Eve and destroy Eden, and I rushed to tell my Father. It was not easy. I loved Samael, but I loved God as much. Humanity more, because God told me too. So I chose my Father, and I chose humanity.

Samael flipped out, and went to the only one who would believe him, no questions asked. He told Gabriel I was the traitor, and Gabriel, trusting him completely, helped Samael fight me. If I had fought Samael myself it would have been an equal battle from equal strengths, but since Gabriel, the third most powerful angel in existence was on his side, I simply didn’t stand a chance.

By the end, Samael stood above me, my own blade in his hands. His eyes were blazing with an anger I’d never seen before-- not from him, not from _anything_ , and I was shook to my core. Together, using my blade, my two brothers shattered my Grace and flung it into the abyss of space. It swirled around and would take billions of years to recollect.

Gabriel was so proud of the way he had fought his traitorous brother with his idolized one, he rushed to tell our Father. Samael, more convinced now that Gabriel would be on his side no matter what (due to his hubris), told him the truth. Gabriel, while loving Lucifer completely, also loved God. The tiebreaker? He had made a commitment to me and a commitment to God to love me as much as he had loved Lucifer. Though he had broken his word only moments before, he was determined to fight back so he could redeem himself. Samael chose to wipe Gabriel’s memory.

Angry, scared, and panicking, Samael made a copy of me. Except instead of Grace, it had Disgrace. Creative, I’m aware. It was made to be like The Darkness, except it seemed in every way to be an Archangel. God was the only one not fooled.

He cast out Lucifer.

His favorite was in The Cage; His eldest was splattered across the galaxy; Raphael, the dullest of us, hadn’t even recognized that I was gone; Gabriel had his mind wiped and loved someone who would never come back. After God gave Fake Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael fabricated memories of the fight, he had to face his own truth: it was all His fault, and He couldn’t live with Himself. Or at least He couldn’t live with the aftermath of His actions.

And so God left.

**\--- BILLIONS OF YEARS LATER ---**

**My Grace collected and formed in the womb of Mary Winchester on April 19th, 1976.**

**I was born nine months later as Dean Winchester.**

**I never forgot about who I was.**

* * *

Calloused hands put the stone tablet down.

He was done carving the stone tablet, so he snapped his fingers and moved it into the secret compartment in Baby that even Sam didn't know about.

He sat on the edge of the moldy blanket in the crappy motel room, and heard the door open. “Hey Dean.”

Dean looked up and smiled a little on the inside at the sight of his kid brother, “What information did you find on the leviathans?”

Sam shut the door and took a seat on his bed, “Well, truth be told there just wasn't a lot of info. See,...”

Dean settled in and felt content listening to Sam ramble on. Even if he had lost his place in heaven, at least he still had Sammy.

**DEAN** **WINCHESTER** **/ MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL**

**THREE WEEKS, FOUR DAYS BEFORE THE BREAKING**

Well, alright then. Is this good?... or you want the whole ‘forehead-to-the-carpet’ thing?” Bobby is the first to break the silence. 

I look over to see what _the hell_ Bobby is talking about--- and he’s kneeling. Wow. Okay. This has taken a turn.

I’m still holding my hands to my midsection. What the hell? Seriously, what the hell? Cas is… how do I even--? He’s _absorbed_ the souls of the leviathans from monster hell, gone nuclear, featured a level of hubris even Oedipus Rex could never reach, and is now claiming to be our Father. It’s a lot to process. 

Bobby pulls me back from my shocked musings, “Guys?”

Sam will kneel to Castiel. Good thing too, seeing as he just tried to kill the bastard with the angel blade. 

But what about me?

I could stand up to Cas right now, end things immediately. I'm Michael the Archangel, goddammit, and before me right now is a mere seraph claiming to be God. Granted, he’s got leviathans in the backseat, but I know that if I try, I could seriously mess him up. Weighing my options I decide that I have to do it: he could try to hurt Sam or Bobby, he might take revenge on the rest of the host. I have to stop him. On the other hand, I can’t reveal my identity now. No, that would be more catastrophic to the universe than “Godstiel” could ever be. 

Sam is wearing puppy-eyes number-seven. He thinks I only count his bitch-faces, but I count his cute faces too. Sam starts to kneel, defeated. I go down too. 

“Stop.” Cas’s voice is quiet, but firm. I am reminded of an assassin creeping into a bedroom at night to kill their target silently and swiftly, in such a way that ensures the target never wakes and is dead before their body registers the pain.

I look to his face. His normally stoic eyes have a hint of power and mock. I’m still frozen in a semi-kneeling sort of bent position as Castiel adds, “What’s the point if you don’t mean it?” 

We freeze. “You fear me. Not love, not respect, just fear.”

Sam starts forward, puppy-eyes number-seven intensifying. “Cas--”

“Sam,” he meets his eyes, “you have nothing to say to me; you stabbed me in the back.” Sam looks a little embarrassed at being called out like that: puppy-eyes-eighty-two.

Cas turns to Bobby and I and spits out, “Get up.”

I do, and I make eye-contact with him. He’s my friend-- my _best_ friend, not to mention he’s also technically my little brother, so I want to convince him he’s making a mistake. I have to see if he’s still in there. 

“Come on, this is not you--” I start in on a heroic speech, but Cas cuts me off.

“The Castiel you knew,” he pauses slightly and stares me down, “is gone.”

“So what, then? Kill us?” I ask incredulously. Even if he tried I wouldn’t really be dead. Of course, Sam and Bobby…

He turns to me, and he slightly cocks his head as he begins to mock me. It’s so Cas-like, but… it’s so _very_ wrong. “What a brave little ant you are.”

I’m offended.

“You know you're powerless; you wouldn't dare move against me again. That would be pointless.”

I’m even more offended than before, and I notice Sam is scared. 

“So I have no need to kill you. Not now.”

Not… now?

“Besides,” it’s unnerving seeing him smile like this, “ _once_ you were my favorite pets before you turned and bit me.” Very matter of fact.

I don’t recognize him. I looked in his eyes, I heard what he had to say, and this is not Castiel. 

“Who are you?”

“I’m God.”

I look to Sam. He’s tense and scared, and he doesn’t know what to do. 

“And if you stay in your place, you may live in my kingdom. If you rise up, I will strike you down.” As he says his last line, my attention snaps to Sam. I watch from the corner of my eye as Sam breathes heavily and looks around as if disoriented and dizzy. Probably because he is. I stare down Cas, hoping he won’t note Sam’s condition when I refuse to break eye-contact.

“Not doing so well, are you Sam?” Dammit. 

I look directly at my weak, human brother.

“I’m fine,” Sam lies, clearing his throat, “I’m fine.”

Anger builds up inside me, the fear is all gone. “You said you would _fix him_ \-- you promised--!”

“If you stood down, which you hardly did.” He glares at me. 

I can’t believe what’s happening. I just can’t.

“Be thankful for my mercy.” He gives a slight nod, “I could have cast you back into the pit,” he coldly informs Sam. 

With nothing else to do, I beg, “Cas, come on, this is nuts-- you can turn this around, please!” Anger bleeds into my voice.

“I hope for your sake this is the last you see me.” He says, in that same, calm, assassin-come-to-kill-someone voice.

Without a woosh, I note, he flies away. I look to Bobby for instruction but he looks the way I feel.

Before I can process _what the hell_ , Sam falls and his hands lands on glass. 

I rush to Sam as he falls and I ask if he’s okay.

As I sprint to him, I tap into his mind with my Grace, and see him on fire in his memories. I’m deeply confused until I piece it all together. Crap.

“Sam, oh God, Sam!” I put my hand under his head as he lies on the floor groaning in apparent pain. His long hair is sweaty and when I run my hand over Sam’s face I feel how hot his skin is and I’m alarmed. 

I hear someone talking to me, and I realize Bobby is trying to get my attention. “Move, Dean.”

Bobby quickly takes an assessment on Sam and the next thing I know, I’m holding Sam in my arms as Bobby unlocks Baby. He opens the back-seat door for us and as gently as I can, I shove my brother into the car, bending his weirdly long legs up so I can sit next to him, and then folding his legs down on my lap so he’s more comfortable.

“-ean are you hearing me?” My head snaps up to look at Bobby on my right, outside the car. 

“I- what? Y- yeah.”

He crouches down and looks me in my eyes, “You should sit up front. There is nothing you can do right now.” He sighs and looks down, grabbing my shoulder in a comforting manner, “You can stay with him if you’d like, but I think it would be better for all of us if you sat up front with me, kiddo.”

I shake my head, “No thanks, Bobby.” I try for a smile even though my brother is hurt, my best friend is being crazy, and I shouldn’t do anything about it even though I can. 

Bobby sighs, “Alright.” and walks to the driver’s seat.

He doesn’t talk to me, which I’m thankful for, and after about fifteen minutes driving to Singer’s Salvage Yard, I close my eyes, enter REM, and tap into Sam’s brain through the mental link, hoping things don’t seem the way I know they are. 

My eyes open and I see him. 

Flames lick me and they envelop Sam. He’s screaming in pain and begging it to stop. He thinks he’s in The Cage.

Correction: He thinks he’s in The Cage with Lucifer and Fake Michael. His torturers. 

I panic, and without meaning to, I pop out of Sam’s head with an audible gasp. 

Bobby accidentally swerves the car and as he stabilizes he asks, “Dean?”

I rebalance as much as I can in a second before saying shakily, “Y-yeah, just pulled a muscle. Don’t worry about it.” 

From the rearview mirror I see Bobby shoot me a worried look, but he doesn’t press me for information. “Idjit.” Comes the mumble.

I let out a sigh and search the window next to me. 

How did things get this bad?

 ~~ **DEAN**~~ ~~**WINCHESTER**~~ **/** ~~**MICHAEL**~~ ~~**THE**~~ ~~**ARCHANGEL**~~

* * *

When he was born as Dean Winchester, Michael retained all his memories and all his Grace. It had come back to him the minute he was born. He never knew why he kept it all whereas other fallen angels like Anael did not. He loved Mary and John because they were his parents, and he was content on Earth. Dean Winchester was always supposed to be Michael’s true vessel, which either complicated or simplified things when Michael _was_ Dean Winchester. Since he only knew what he remembered, he didn’t know in the beginning of his human life that God had left and Samael was Lucifer.

When Mary told the child one day that she was pregnant and they would name him Sam, he became wary, afraid and worried that the child would destroy everything, but that all changed when they brought him home and let Dean hold his brother.

Michael felt the infant’s soul and was shocked at how bright it was. It was the most glowy soul he had ever seen. He caressed the beautiful orb, and knew at once Sam was nothing like Samael. Innocent, curious, loving, and selfless. Rebellious and defiant, sure, but nothing like Lucifer.

He sensed then from the soul prints that Dean was destined to be Sam’s soulmate and vice versa. Words couldn’t put a description on the joy Dean felt, the happiness inside him was, and will always remain ineffable when it comes to this.

Every new year, January first, Dean would sit with Sam and open his little soul. He would take a smidge of his Archangel Grace and weave it intricately into the human soul to give the child protection. The Grace he’d removed would grow back. He could only ever use a few atoms at a time however because too much would destroy Sam utterly, leaving him soulless. Though thankfully by only putting a few atoms in at a time each year, the powerful little soul could adapt and handle the Grace. An added bonus to the ritual was that Dean could hear and see and know what Sam was thinking and feeling whenever he wanted to. Dean never abused that power but it came in handy. Sam never cried because his guardian would get whatever he wanted before he could start bawling, and he healed away all the pain. 

Then the night came that Mary died. Dean hadn’t sensed the demon sneak in, but he knew instantly what happened when his father explained. Two months later on the morning of January first, Dean saw his brother’s soul and felt shock seep into his bones. Red ugly cracks from demon blood covered and shattered the soul from an orb shape to broken glass suspended around itself, hanging loosely like a body from a noose. The Grace was in the center of the shards, but Dean noticed right away that the shards hung from the Grace, as if it was water retreating from oil. The sight hurt Dean irrationally, as he felt a little insulted and offended that his little brother's soul was so repelled by his Grace. Dean resisted the urge to heal it all then, sensing that one day, Sam’s soul would be fixed without his angelic powers. He compromised instead and let the human, demon, and angel collect in one body. He hoped that Sam wouldn’t be hurt, but ultimately he just didn’t know. From that point on, a few atoms of grace each year became only one.

The trio became hunters, though more often than not it only felt like they were the hunted. John kept more diligent track on his sons, and would get suspicious when bruises and cuts would disappear off Sam and Dean’s bodies. Dean soon learned not to heal him or his brother despite that feeling pain and watching Sam suffer ticked him off. Fortunately, John only ever cared about his kids physically and as a result never noticed how they felt emotionally. Maybe if he had cared a bit more he would have realized that the codependency Sam and Dean had was unhealthy, but John suffered from tunnel vision. Frankly, the only time the man noticed at all was when the broken “D” noises became Dean’s name rather than “Dad”, Sam’s first word.

When Sam around two-years-old, John went after the ghost of a killer clown named Billio. The man went to the place he suspected the clown was buried to burn the corpse, but in truth, it was a red herring. By the time the naive hunter realized his mistake, the clown was already at the motel where he and Sam and Dean were staying at. At that time, the hunters hadn’t picked up on how salt could be used to protect themselves and put up barriers at doors, so the ghost came right on in.

Dean was in the bathroom when he felt fear and terror from Sam’s soul in the mental link. He rushed out to find the monster standing above his baby brother with a yellow and pink knife in hand, deranged smile on face. Dean, being protective of Sam, let the parts of him that were archangel show through. Billio then realized who he had angered and tried to make a break for it. Dean froze him in place and gave a sharp snap of his fingers. The ghost blew apart. After Dean consoled a traumatized Sam, wiped his memories, cleaned the motel room of exploded ghost juice, and fed his brother, John finally came home from the hour long drive to and from the cemetery. He was shocked, but relieved, that Sam and Dean were not dead yet. Immediately, Dean wiped his father’s memories too, and replaced it all with ideas that he had finished hunting a wendigo. They spent another night and hit the road the next day.

From that point on nothing changed much, except for Sam’s seemingly random coulrophobia that could only be calmed when Dean was around.

Little incidents like this occurred almost every year, but the one that would stick in the angel’s mind the longest was when Sam was seventeen. Another ghost clown was on the loose, and after Dean had done his own research, apart from his family’s, he found that it was Billio's brother, Ben-Bob, who wanted revenge. On the day the group decided they had enough info to take care of the problem, an argument broke out between John and Sam. Sam stormed off, and with his father’s permission, Dean followed him, wanting to make sure Sam would be okay. 

Before he could start talking to Sam about the argument, the ghost found them. 

It pinned Sam below it, and raised the same stupidly colored yellow and pink knife from fifteen years before high above the teenager. All of this is already pretty bad, but somehow things can always get worse. From the mental link, Dean knew that the giant evil clown with a smile cut into his face wasn’t the most concerning thing on Sam’s mind.

Understand, when memories are wiped and replaced, the act is done from one of several ways. The one that destroys humans the most is by giving the brain an absolute cleanse; the memories are deleted forever and there is no getting them back. The second is by removing the memories and keeping them somewhere undisturbed: marginally safer but ultimately still very dangerous. The third way is to build a wall in the brain holding the things that should never be seen again. By keeping the memories intact and inside, the human is entirely safe. Except when the wall breaks. 

Dean had chosen the last and safest way to make Sam forget, though when that clown stood above him with the knife high over his head, the dam broke. All the memories Dean had hidden were revealed and Sam knew. He knew why he was so afraid of clowns and he knew that Dean was not human. He felt fear and disgust and horror and confusion, but most of all, the feeling of betrayal filled Sam’s head as anger seeped deep into his soul, mixing with the red cracks the demon blood left. Sam was angry and hurt that the person he loved most in the world had lied to him every day of his life, and unwanted evil thoughts crept into his head, making him wonder if Dean had ever loved Sam at all or if it was just an elaborate trick done by this inhuman thing who only wanted for Sam to feel pain.

Dean dealt with the clown first, then turned to his brother. Sam’s back against a wall, he stared up at the person who lied to him over and over and over again. His glare was hateful and wary and packed a thousand knives. Dean could feel everything and know everything that Sam was holding in his head, from Dean giving his brother Grace and lying about it, to the times Dean had saved Sam and wiped his head clean from the experience. Emotions swirled as a tornado, picking up, ripping apart, and eating away at the carefully placed relationship the two brothers, the two _soulmates_ , had made over seventeen years of life. 

Before Sam could say a word of the things he felt, which would completely destroy Dean's battered heart, Dean rebuilt the mental wall and stored all of it back inside.

Even though Sam couldn’t remember, his soul did. He became irritable to Dean, treating him like their father, and even though Dean tried to make up for the things he’d done, Sam couldn’t forgive him. Not then, not ever. The junk food Dean ate became criticized, the choices Dean made were questioned, and the rock music Dean loved was annoying. It was this incident that pushed Sam to leave for college. Even if he couldn’t remember why, he just couldn’t deal with his brother. The “my-brother-is-a-superhero!” mentality was dead, and in its place was a punishment-after-punishment dealing attitude. Dean knew he deserved it.

Sam left them and went to Stanford on his full ride, Dean was mixed on that. While he felt overwhelming pride, he also felt heartbroken his brother was leaving him, and ashamed that it was done not because Sam wanted to grow up and be a lawyer but rather because he just wanted to leave Dean in the rear view mirror. John always thought Sam left him, when in truth the main reason was just to get as far away as possible from Dean.

Then John mysteriously disappeared and Dean saw an opportunity. He contacted his little brother and the pair left. They solved a hunt, and as much as Dean was hoping Sam would stay with him, he knew that he couldn’t force him to want that. As he dropped off Sam, he sensed an evil presence. He shrugged it off as just a ghost haunting a nearby apartment or something, and opted just to wait ten minutes to see if Sam needed him before bailing. He was thankful he did. He managed Sam’s nightmares of Jess as often as possible from then on without arousing suspicion.

Life went on. They visited a haunted asylum and fought, and the pent-up rage Sam felt in his soul came flooding out, though he talked about why he thought he was upset rather than the truth he didn’t know. They met the cannibalistic family and Dean saved Sam.

Soon they found their father, and they got into the car accident with the truck-driver-possessing demon. Dean’s body was braindead, but his Grace was very much still alive. He tried to convince Tessa the Reaper to let him live. She said that he had three options.

  * She said he could go with her and he’d die as Dean.
  * She said she would let him live if he revealed his past as Michael, as the world needed him.



And finally, 

  * She said that his Grace could possess his body and he’d get to live again without her intervention-- _but_ that it would require his soul/Grace to rip, and become soul and Grace. The transformation would be painful and deadly and Dean would never feel or be put together again.



Before he could decide, he was alive again, whole again-- but at the cost of John Winchester’s life. Tessa gave a regretful sigh, disappointed but unsurpised, and she left.

From there, Sam’s powers became more prominent, to the point where Dean could no longer ignore them. He decided that he would help Sam through being psychic. Before he could say anything to Sam, he was abducted. Dean couldn’t find him, angel powers be damned. Then Sam was stabbed and killed by Jake, and Dean couldn’t heal him in case the mental wall broke again. Desperate, he traded his soul.

Before Dean died, he found a spell of breaking. He used it on himself so he could cut his soul evenly away from his Grace. He was both Dean and Michael, though now he could sense things from both ends of his psyche with only one mind at the wheel. He was very happy he’d found a fix, but felt undeniably bitter that he hadn’t done it sooner, before his dad sacrificed himself for Dean.

And then, he died. 

His soul went to hell, his Grace went to another galaxy, but he saw both situations play out. It was a trip for him to be tortured day-in, day-out while at the same time, settled on a planet far away, as if asleep. He’d been expecting to go to the Empty as well as Hell and was confused why that hadn't played out.

When Dean came back he was very angry at Sam. The first thing he did was to look at Sam’s soul and he was repelled at the sight. The once mostly white soul was completely colored an off putting red, and the shards were even more displaced than before. He knew at once that Sam had drank demon blood. As he gave Sam his first hug, he quickly stuck the pieces of soul back into some kind of a shape and tied the Grace he’d left inside over the mess to keep it in place. He felt frustrated because he couldn’t tell Sam he was mad, because then Sam would know that Dean would know, and then he’d wondered how he’d known, and Dean didn’t want to spill.

Dean met Castiel as “the one who gripped him tight and raised him from perdition” and then he found out that Lucifer replaced him with a Fake Michael, a deeply unwelcome surprise. Dean met himself, _but not himself_ , and came to discover that the creature’s Grace, was in fact, Disgrace. It was an odd experience, and Dean kind of wished it had never happened.

Soon Sam managed to release Lucifer, and Bobby lost his legs. Sam drowned himself in guilt and Dean began to seriously consider if then was the time to reveal himself. Then he met Satan himself. It clicked in his head that his brother didn’t recognize him. He decided to keep the information to himself, so he could reveal it later when he really needed to stun Lucifer for a little bit. 

He met Gabriel and felt anger and frustration. Gabriel was the one who helped break his Grace and throw it across the universe because of naviety, and now he didn’t even recognize him. Dean was angry at God and Lucifer and Gabriel and Raphael and there was nothing he could do about it. All he had was Sammy, and while that made him happy, it wasn’t enough. He wanted to get the justice he needed and the happy ending he deserved.

When Sam fell into The Cage, Dean was left with nothing. He had no one and that broke him more than he had ever felt before, from when Gabriel and Lucifer shattered his soul, to when his mom died and he thought he could have stopped it, to his dad dying when there had been another solution, to Sam's anger, to finding his angelic family again only to realize they didn't know anything. He tried to save his brother but the Fates stopped him and told him very harshly that if he brought Sam back, they’d make his existence even more hellish than The Cage.

Nothing left to do, Dean moved on with Lisa and Ben. He gradually stopped checking the mental link, as it hurt too much when there was nothing there, and he started the path to healing. Then Sam came back and old wounds reopened. Dean found out Sam and Bobby were not going to tell him that Sam came back, and he felt rage in his whole body. It was deeply suspicious too! Sam came back and didn't tell him, which was very unlike Sam. This caused Dean to immediately check the mental link-- he still found nothing there, a confusing discovery. The connection went through the soul and thus Dean realized that Sam didn’t have one! He pretended not to know though, and kept trying to clue in Bobby, but Bobby just wasn’t getting it.

The trauma just kept piling on-- Dean met Samuel who was going to trade them for Mary, Dean met Death and Sam got his soul back, they fought Eve and the Alphas, Cas betrayed them for Crowley, Cas betrayed Crowley for himself, and the second mental wall put up by Death holding memories of The Cage broke-- it was always just one catastrophe after another and another and _another_ for the brothers Winchester. All the madness from the past was towering over them, and Dean couldn't help but feel that it was all his fault.

As the thoughts swirled in his head, Dean brushed the hair from Sam’s face.

He hadn’t been shocked by Sam remembering the Cage, or Sam feeling like he was being torture again, but he had been taken aback when he realized his brother was being tortured by a Fake Him. How was Dean supposed to feel about this? About any of this? Everything he had ever done, no matter the intention had just brought years of pain and hurt to him and the ones he loved most. And now, his weak, human, mortal brother was trapped in his own head, experiencing getting tortured by Satan himself and his Fake brother-- _except!_ he didn't even _know_ that the creature torturing him was supposed to be his fake brother because his real brother is a huge freakin' liar.

With no other options but to go face-to-face with the chaos he'd made, Dean closed his eyes, and reentered Sam’s head, prepared for a fight.


	2. Little Talks; Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Within Sam's mind, Dean meets Lucifer and the two catch up. Later, he and Sam discuss hypotheticals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiya, Writing01 here!
> 
> Please email me if there are plot holes, grammar mistakes, or spelling errors I missed because that's really embarrassing and I would rather not show the world how much of a dumb-dumb I am. Well, more than I already do. I hope you have a lovely day.
> 
> ALSO! I update every Thursday. If it's not Thursday, then Tuesday. One or the other, sometimes both.
> 
> And as always, my email is writing.green.prompts@gmail.com, and I encourage you to send me thoughts and questions. If you want to tell me my story is horrible and it's what they force people to read in hell, please do! If you want to tell me my story is decent, please do!

**SAM** **WINCHESTER**

Pain. Fire. Guilt.

 _Your fault._ Your fault. _Your_ fault. _Your fault._

_You did this._

Guilt. Fire. Pain.

A sob escapes me before I can stop it, and I'm dragging my hair down to cover my eyes. It feels like there's knives in my belly, and glass in my throat. My fingers and toes are missing the nails, ripped out by Michael. Lucifer is twirling his pale fingers through my intestines and this pain is unbearable. My genitals hurt like someone kicked my crotch, and then stabbed it. I don't know if I can see.

Before I can process anything else, I hear a snap and the world around me shifts until The Cage is replaced by Bobby's home. I see a familiar and welcome sight before me, and the last thing I recall thinking is-- _Dean?!_

~~**SAM** ~~ **~~WINCHESTER~~**

* * *

**THE THINGS SAM DID NOT REMEMBER**

Dean snapped his fingers.

The fire and knives and sharks and meat hooks all disappeared. 

The blood was cleaned off of Sam's body, and the pain was gone, just a bad memory. He was dressed in his comfiest flannel and a cozy pair of jeans.

They stood in Bobby's living room.

Sam blinked once, able to see again, and felt relief at the sight of Dean, standing in his bow legged stance the ladies loved so much with his own pair of leather pants and a Metallica shirt.

Sam rushed forward to his brother, needing a hug, but then stopped a foot away, arms still outstretched, a horrible idea dawning on him. He stepped back a yard or so and tensed up. Sam looked away, poker-faced, and said in a neutral, cold voice, "Don't you _ever_ wear his face."

"Sam-"

"Stop."

"Please listen to me-"

"I said shut up!" Sam faced Dean and screamed, "You can pluck my fingers from my hands and my hands from my wrists and my wrists from my arms and my arms from my sockets, but don't you _ever_ wear _his face_!"

Dean reached forward and tapped Sam's forehead with his index and middle finger. Sam instantly dropped all emotion from his face, and stood up impossibly straight, looking dead ahead. 

Dean sighed and looked down, hopelessly. He rubbed his eyes and face, still not done processing what had happened a few hours ago, much less the mess he stood in there.

Then, claps rang through the air.

"Dean Winchester."

Dean turned to look into the eyes of the Devil himself.

"Well, that _is_ what you're going by these days, right?" He cocked his head and smiled, but the crinkles didn't reach his eyes. "I always preferred the name _Michael_ , though."

Lucifer gave a click of his tongue, and the pair disappeared, leaving Sam standing there, still as a stone.

In the blink of an eye, Dean was seated in a white chair, opposite another white chair, occupied by Lucifer.

"Hiya, big bro."

“Lucifer.” Dean’s voice was emotionless-rock as he relaxed in the chair, slumping down, and folding his arms, staring down his younger brother.

The two sat opposed, Michael aloof, Lucifer posed and focused, smirking like the Cheshire cat.

Silence and tension built up, but neither seemed the slightest bit phased. After what could have been six millennia or six milliseconds, Michael broke the silence. 

"I am curious-- I was under the impression that you are just a memory in Sam's head, but Sam can't remember what he doesn't know, and as far as I can tell, he doesn't know that I'm Michael."

Lucifer smiled a bit, "And you want to know how that can be, hmm?"

Dean cocked his head a bit. "I would appreciate some insight."

Lucifer leaned forward a bit, his focus a foil to Dean’s uncaring demeanor, and said, "Well, Michael--"

"It's Dean now. It has been for the past thirty years."

"Well, _Michael_ ," Dean adopted a still face, determined not to give Lucifer the attention he craved. "it all started when I was using Sammy-boy as a chew toy. Can you guess what I found?”

Dean sighed a bit, and rolled his eyes uncaringly, “I don’t know?” It was an act, and the two knew it. It seemed to encourage Satan further, though Michael was determined not to break or snap.

“We were torturing your precious human a lot. Honestly, it was very, _very_ fun: peeling his skin off; cutting up his limbs one by one into little pieces; roasting it on the flames of Hell; and then eating it up and listening to his screams. Have you ever tried that by the way? Humans are surprisingly delicious. Savory, and a little crunchy, in fact, the Fake Michael loved to taste and eat up Sammy’s flesh _very_ , very mu--” 

Dean stood up suddenly, surprising both beings, and said through clenched teeth, chill attitude lost, “Get. To the. _Point_.”

Lucifer let out an insane laugh, happy he'd broken the unresponsive show, and continued, “WELL, once we were done with _that_ , we started in on his soul."

Dean sat down slowly, needing to hear just exactly _what_ Lucifer knew.

"When you came down here-- I don't think you noticed--- Fake You was long gone. I know you were thinking he was still around, but I just had to get rid of him once I got to Sam's soul-- I didn't need or want the extra competition for the fun and games."

Dean ignored the bait _again_ , and asked, "Why did you even keep that fake me around at all once you escaped from The Cage? I was beginning to think that you either didn't remember or couldn't because you didn't have that power."

Lucifer smiled, "Well, you know I had to keep it up for show. The only ones who knew that Michael was a fake was Father, you, and I. Back then I didn't know you were Dean Winchester, so I didn't know that I wasn't the only present one who knew that the other Michael was a copy. Since I didn't know, I decided it would be in my best interest to make everyone think that was the Real Michael, though we all saw how _that_ turned out."

Dean snorted, "Ha, even _if_ Fake me wasn't around we still would have kicked your ass."

Lucifer laughed, "Sure, Mikey," he dismissed, "in any case, once I was in the cage, I poked around in Sammy's little soul." 

He nodded, "I looked at _every_ memory you made him forget, and _every_ memory you put inside. I looked at how broken his soul was. That incident from when he was seventeen?” Dean looked sharply away, the situation still leaving a taste on his tongue. “I’m guessing you already know, but as a refresher, the pain you gave him just soaked right on in. The _betrayal_ of it _all_ \-- Michael, Michael, _Michael_ , the hurt you made him feel was _worse_ than anything I have ever seen. You permanently damaged the damn thing with that stunt-- more than I did _overall_ , in fact. It’s impressive really, how in one second you broke him more than when I took one-hundred-and-twenty _years_ of unrelenting, carefully placed pain and torture.” 

Dean clenched his fists, guilt and anger and shame tearing him up from inside, though Lucifer hardly noticed, simply continuing his monologue. "After I was done marveling at that, I saw the damage the demon blood gave him. Of course, that wasn’t really news to anyone, so I moved along…” 

He trailed off a bit, but his excitement and happiness in Michael’s pain came right back up again-- “What was _very_ juicy gossip on the other hand, was the fact that _you_ stuck your Grace inside the human! He had about twenty-five atoms of it by the time I got to him. Clever what you did with tying your Grace around his broken soul, I have _got to_ admit, I _never_ would have thought of that. BUT, I was inspired by you!”

“What the hell is _that_ supposed to mean?” Dean questioned coldly, absolutely _done_ with this entire exchange.

Lucifer let out a cackle and stood up, beginning to circle Dean like a shark. “And here I was, thinking that you would have at least checked on your pet’s soul since he left the cage, Mikey! Oh, my sweet, innocent, stupid, stupid brother, when Sammy was down here with us, I popped an atom of my own Grace in, right next to yours!”

Dean froze. Horror and a chilly cold sweep up from his abdomen to his face, draining it of feeling. The ugly realization coiled itself close around his heart, tugging at it, and filling him with anxiety. The last thing he wanted was even a _trace_ of Lucifer on Sam's soul. At his face, Lucifer put on a mock consoling voice-- “Oh don’t worry there, brother mine, it was only a _little_ bit! I wouldn’t want to hurt your little bug _too_ much.” He gave Dean a pat on the shoulder (which Michael of course flinched away from) and continued on, “Remember, it was only one.” He stepped away and went behind his own chair, grabbing onto the top of the backrest. 

Michael focused on his hands, twisting and pulling at his fingers, “And so that’s why you are able to torture him even now.”

“And, it's why I am still technically with Sammy! That mental link you established was quite the beauty! It was cloaked so well it’s no wonder no one except me has found it yet. I made sure to copy it _exactly_ and test out each and every one of those abilities and quirks that came with that package deal. The best part of it all? Now that Sam is free from The Cage, I get to see the outside world too, even if it is only from my atom of a window seat."

He gave an ugly smile, "I am not a memory or a PTSD flashback, Dean. This is me, here, in real life, up on the topside, inside your human.”

Dean wanted to rip the monster before him apart, angry that he had even an inch of happiness when he deserved much less. Lucifer noticed his brother’s anger, and just to add a little gasoline to the forest fire, said to him, “Oh! And by the way, Michael, I noticed that you hardly ever used the connection to the full potential, but you can trust me when I say, I used those powers to make sure he suffered horribly during his time with me!”

Michael stood up and punched Lucifer down in the face. Lucifer began to stand up again, laughing a bit, “Do that again, it was funny!”

Michael punched him again, and again, and resisted a fourth time, knowing he was just giving Lucifer what he wanted.

He took a deep breath, snapped his fingers, and caged Lucifer in a steel box. Because this was all happening in Sam’s soul, Michael had the upper hand with at least nineteen more atoms of Grace than Lucifer. Try as he might, little ol’ Lucy wasn’t going to escape from there anytime soon. "You have taken up residence in Sam's soul. While I _wish_ I could have stopped you, you can trust me when I say that I will redeem myself _one day_ by getting rid of you."

Dean gave another snap of his fingers and appeared in front of Sam once again.

Sam was still frozen when Dean came back to the Bobby's-house-dreamscape. His back was straight and he looked forward. His arms hung at his side, his hands unclenched and relaxed. Sam’s "body" in his conscious was only a structure meant to help Sam through his mind, like dreaming in first perspective or wearing a VR headset. When Dean tapped his forehead, he sent him into a dreamless sleep, making Sam take the stiff-as-a-board posture.

It was deeply unnerving. Dean tapped Sam’s forehead again, and Sam opened his eyes and relaxed into his usual slumpy position.

“I- Dean? Why are we at Bobby's?” Sam looked around, confused but relaxed. Dean was guessing Sam didn't remember what had happened recently.

Dean sat down on the torn but comfortable couch and put his feet up on the coffee table, “You’re fever dreaming, Sammy.”

Sam stared at him for a few seconds. “What?”

“Fever dreaming. Come on Sam, you went to Stanford for God’s sake. You know what fever dreaming is.” He shrugged a bit, and took a sip of the cold beer that had mysteriously appeared on the table.

Sam took a seat next to him, slowly in a sort of processing way. “Yeah I know what fever dreaming is, Dean. Even in my head you're still annoying as all hell.”

Dean nodded, “Mmm.”

Sam turned to him a bit slowly, “The only really confusing thing about this is that fever dreams are supposed to be... well, _confusing_. That's a bit of a paradox, but-- _oh_. This _is_ a fever dream, then.”

Dean smiled humorlessly, and set down his drink. He sat up a little, and turned to Sam, “Are you ready for it to get even more confusing?"

Sam responded, "Uh-- not reall--?"

"Shut up, it's getting more confusing anyway," Dean cut him off.

Sam sighed, but was overall unruffled.

Dean, unbothered by his brother, moved right along, "Time for a development.” he murmured.

Sam didn’t say anything, looking a bit suspiciously at his brother.

Dean stood up and held out his arms, presenting himself, “I am Michael, the Archangel.”

Sam said nothing, but then started laughing in manic. “I-- wow, yeah this is a fun dream.” He sat back and relaxed, willing to let the situation play itself out.

“I am curious, though Sammy; won’t you entertain me?” Dean asked, getting another beer for Sam from the refrigerator.

Sam took it, and said, “Well that depends. What do you want?”

Dean took his seat again, and said, “Well, how would you react out there,” he gave a gesture, “if I turned out to have lied to you for your entire life about my identity, _but_ not fully, because I was also Dean Winchester?”

Sam actually laughed, not believing what his delusional brain had cooked up. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, _wait._ Can I get some backstory?” He snorted a bit, and took another sip of his beer, and mumbled under his breath, “Jesus Christ, did I take something before falling asleep?”

Dean ignored the last part. “ _Hypothetically_ , Sam, what if Lucifer tore up the Real Michael’s Grace and made a Fake Michael. Real Michael was reincarnated as, _me,_ and somehow I kept all my powers and memories and Grace.”

Sam took a long drink from his beer. “What, so you're Michael _and_ Dean? But Dean hasn't been possessed by Michael, he just is.”

Dean, shrugged a bit, “Hypothetically.”

Sam, still a little confused, “Well I’d be really freaking pissed off, Dean.”

Dean took that into account. “How pissed?”

“I don’t know, I’d probably avoid you for as long as I could, and-- uh, I don’t know, never talk to you again?”

Dean was not surprised, but definitely unhappy. “Why?”

Sam laughed, “You’re kidding me, right? In this situation, we are saying that you lied to me again and again, could have saved _so many_ people, probably could have saved mom, Jess, could have saved _me_ from the hunter life, could have prevented me from becoming an addict, made sure I didn’t fall into The Cage-- you could have done _so many things_ differently, but then… you _didn’t_ \-- for- for what? That's a messed up hypothetical, Dean.”

Sam sat back a bit, and took another drink of beer, “Why wouldn’t I be mad? If you did that, you’d be even worse than Lucifer.”

Dean settled in by his little brother, “Yeah, probably.” He shrugged it off, and gave Sam a hollow smile, “The things you cook up in your head when you fever dream…”

The boys settled back and continued a peaceful conversation until the end of the car ride to Singer’s Salvage Yard, when Bobby began to rouse Dean awake. 

“Bye Sammy.” Dean stood up from the couch and walked to the door.

Sam quickly set down his drink and followed his brother. “Wait, Dean-- where the _hell_ are you going?!”

Dean gave him a quick smile, walked through the door, and closed it behind him. He woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, since I am posting this chapter on a Tuesday, it's about 3030 words smaller than the last chapter (JK JK JK, 3030 words exactly last time I checked). 
> 
> I deeply apologize for the shortness of the chapter, I was watching Willy Wonka and the entire think freaks me the hell out, so I wasn't as focused as I should have been. ("Everything in this room is eatible, even I'm eatible, but that is called cannibalism, my dear children, and is in fact frowned upon in most societies. Yeah... Enjoy!" What the hell, what the hell, what the hell whatthehellWHATTHEHELL)
> 
> Anyway, have a lovely week.  
> Buh-bye all.


	3. Breathe (2AM); Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam starts hallucinating. Major L.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i want to die. shit has been crazy so excuse me for not posting sooner, assuming anyone gave a damn. hope you enjoyed.

**THREE WEEKS, TWO DAYS BEFORE THE BREAKING**

**BOBBY SINGER**

CREaaaaaaaEAAAAAAAAAAAKkkk 

“God  _ dammit! _ ”

I sip on my coffee contemplatively.

“Come. On.”

It’s mostly coffee.

CreeeeeeeeeeeeAk-- eaaaaaAAK

Has a little beer in it too.

“Baby!”

…

“Oh, come on.”

Goddamned Winchesters yelling like banshees in my yard… 

_ BANG!  _ “Oh, mother _ fu--” _

I need something stronger. I take my mug and pour the coffee-alcohol concoction down the sink, grab a fresh bottle, and sit down on my couch again, hoping that maybe, just maybe, the shrieking will end soon and I’ll be able to concentrate on research.

Thirty minutes have passed and the screeching hasn’t stopped. 

I stuff my exasperation down, and grab another beer. I step out and follow the cursing to where Dean is in his Impala, upside down with his feet on the bent roof, trying, and very clearly, failing, to bend the roof back in shape.

Dean grunts. “Come on.”

I walk to the side door as Dean yells out, “Come on, Baby!”

I lean down a bit and look into the window at Dean, “So,.. ya fixin’ her or primal screamin’?”

Dean gets out of the back seat and takes the beer I brought. “Thanks. How’s Sam?”

Honestly, not good. Who knows if he’ll live? Might not even wake up. If he does, what state will he be in? No one can say. I’d pray if I thought that praying would do anything.

I say nonchalantly, “He’s still under. But alive.”

He takes a drink, “Yeah? What about God part deux?”

He walks over to the rusted, blue toolbox and I answer, “I got all kindsa feelers out, so far diddly.”

“And what exactly are you lookin’ for?”

I walk next to him, “Exactly. What?” I list random, holy things, “Miracles,... mass visions. Trench Coat on a tortilla, I don’  _ know  _ what I’m lookin’ for.”

Deana grabs a red cloth and a hammer and cleans the head, “‘Eah, well, he’ll surface.”

I don’t want to ask this. “Say we do suss out where “new-and-improved” flew off to.”

Dean sets the cloth down. “Yeah?”

“The hell we plan to do about it?” I manage.

He looks me in the eye, “I don’t know Bobby, I got no more clue than you do.” He begins to walk back to his car.

Dean is a good liar. Though from the standpoint where I’m at?

Give me a hint, throw me a bone. “I don’t even know what books to hit for, Dean.” I start fishing.

“Well figure it out!” He snaps and turns to me.

I give him a look, and he sighs, looks down, back up, and apologizes. “I’m sorry.”

He’s not just saying sorry for yelling at me.

“This ain’t in no book.” He wears a hopeless expression. “If you stick your neck out, Cas steps on it.” I nod slightly, knowing he’s right. “So you know what I’m gonna do?” He looks at his beloved Impala.

“What?” I step over to his side again, waiting for his answer.

“I’ma fix this car. Because that’s what I  _ can  _ do. I can work on her till she’s mint. And when Sam wakes up--” he steps into the passenger’s side of the car, “no matter what shape he’s in, we glue him back together too.” He adds as he slides on his back holding the hammer, “We owe him that.”

He knows Sam will wake up. 

“I’m with ya.”

He starts to hammer the roof again.

I walk back to my old couch and ruminate.

Dean’s always been like this, lying on hunts, saying he’s sorry for lying without ever really letting us know he lied, much less apologizing for it, knowing more than he should.

~~**BOBBY** **SINGER**~~

**SAM WINCHESTER**

I hear the door swing open from downstairs. I step out of the tiled bathroom, past the hallways lined with books, down the moldy-carpeted stairs, through the living room. I pause, without even meaning to, in front of the couch, the dream-conversation still fresh in my mind.

Dean opens the refrigerator and pulls out a beer as I step into the doorway, touching the wall lightly. “Hey Dean.”

He turns to me with a red rag in hand, “Wow-- uh, you’re-” he motions to me with the red cloth, “walkin’ and talkin’.”

“Yeah!” I try for a smile despite the weird dream I had, and say “I uh… put on my own socks. Whole nine.” I lean on the little, wooden kitchen table.   
“Well that’s uhm-- you sure you’re okay?”  _ Mother hen _ .

“Yeah, my head hurts a little, but, basically.” The tension and awkwardness is killing me. How do you go from the terror of yesterday to the small talk of today, while the dreams of last night hang over your head?

“Look man, I’m as surprised as you are, but yeah, I swear.”

He looks surprised, but in a good way. “Good! No reason putting a gift horse under a microscope, right?” He looks down the way he does when he gets uncomfortably close to the truth. Did he make a deal?

“Yeah.” I need to know what happened yesterday.

“What happened with Cas?”

He motions a bit and stands up straight, “Why don’t you come help me with the car and I’ll fill ya in.” He starts to walk to the door.

“‘Kay.” He’s left before I say it, so I stand up too and start forward when--

I hear a distant laughter that fades in, the sounds of chains tinkling like wind chimes before a hurricane. My world feels wrong, but I ignore it anyway and go to join Dean. My world always feels wrong these days, so why do I care now?

~~**SAM WINCHESTER** ~~

**DEAN WINCHESTER / MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL**

I grab the hammer again, hoping that this time since I’ve got Sam’s help I can actually fix the damn roof. Speaking of Sam, I could tell I was acting suspicious back there. It’s just weird speaking to him like this after we’ve had a conversation like that, especially since he doesn’t remember it. I think most humans at some point wish they could speak to a close friend or hated enemy being unusually candid and not have the other person remember. But honestly? I wish I’d never opened that can of worms-- it’s harder to deal with the aftermath of the conversation. You have to pretend not to know things you do know, and while you try to act normal you usually just fail. 

How am I supposed to be normal when I live in a situation that, if Sam was completely aware of, would not talk to me for? Now I feel added pressure to keep up this life long charade, and the longer I go without talking openly, the higher the consequence. Maybe back then the risk was small enough and reward big enough that the choice was easy, but as each day goes by the chance of the truth coming out anyway goes up and the risk has absolutely heightened. 

I don’t want to lose Sam too. And now that I know just want the risk is, I can’t seem to take my mind off of it-- “ _ Don’t put the gift horse under a microscope.”  _ Right, because that won’t make Sammy wonder how he got back on his feet so quick at all, huh? Wow, I’m such a damn dumbass.

As I think these thoughts, I hear footsteps approach. “Hey Dean.”

“Sammy,” he steps next to me and I hand him a second hammer.

We’ll spend the rest of the day fixing her. The rest of tomorrow; more. Day after day after day after day. 

What about Sam?

~~**DEAN WINCHESTER / MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL** ~~

  
  


**THREE WEEKS, ONE DAY BEFORE THE BREAKING** , Sam had his first Lucifer induced PTSD panic attack. The light turned red and filtered in through the basement as Sam clutched at the wrench in his hand, terrified. He wondered how it could be happening. Bobby came down though to tell him a Cas related situation was on TV, and the hallucinations disappeared as quickly as it had come.

He’d gone up the stairs and watched as the reporter talked about the two hundred people killed. The interview with the woman was concerning and as much as the group wanted to do something about it, Michael accepted they couldn’t and shut off the television. He motioned for Sam and Bobby to help him with his car, and with nothing left to do but move forward, the group did.

**THREE WEEKS BEFORE THE BREAKING** , Sam and Dean worked on Baby some more. As Sam worked on the backseats, Dean fixed up the Sam-side (the term a joke between the brothers) window, trying to roll down the delicate piece of art. He stopped for a second and looked over at the car radio when he’d heard that Cas had been targeting racists, forcing the KKK to momentarily disband. “Can’t argue with that…” he said to Sam. They continued their work.

The quartet stayed busy for the rest of the day. As Bobby read books and looked online, researching the crap out of very literally  _ everything _ , Sam and Dean repaired the engine and front hood. They were finishing up when a report of a freak lightning storm taking out a “new-age motivational speaking” building. 

Sam stopped what he was doing and looked over to his brother, confusion on his face and in his voice “Motivational speakers?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered, looking around in the hood with a light as Sam paused the radio, “I’m not sure new Cas gets irony any better than old Cas.” 

He shut the hood and Sam helped, “Of course, old Cas wouldn’ smite Madison square to prove a point.” 

The two began to clean up, “He is off the deep end of the deep end, and there’s no slowin’ down.

“So what?” Dean looks at Sam in surprise. “Try to talk to him again?”

“Sam--”

“Dean, all we  _ can _ do is try to talk to the guy.” He hits back, letting mocking amusement bleed into his voice.

Dean looked to him. “He’s not a guy. He’s God. And he’s pissed. And when God gets righteous, you get the hell out of the way; haven’t you read the bible?”

Sam gave a bitch face, “I guess.”

Dean took a step forward, angry his brother was acting this way. What if he decided to do something stupid? He snapped at Sam, “Cas is never coming back. He’s lied to us, he’s used us, he cracked your gourd like it was nothing. No more talk; we have spent enough on him!”

Sam gave defeated puppy eyes, “Okay.”

Dean let up. “Hand me that socket wrench.”

As much as he hated to admit it, what he’d said was true. Castiel was stronger, more powerful than Dean. The combined forces of the thousand leviathans and a seraph was more substantial than Michael’s, the second greatest entity in the entire universe tied only with the devil himself, and that made him angrier and more scared than he’d ever been before. Angry because of his ego, and afraid, for his family. They were on this new God’s radar, and the only reason they’d been spared was because he held a teaspoon of affection for them.

Michael didn’t want to snap at Sam, he’d practically raised him, but he also didn’t want for Sam to pull some stupid stunt and end up making Godstiel angrier than he already was. He had no one except Sam and Bobby now, and he couldn’t afford for one of them to decide they were Earth’s last defense.

_ In any case, at least he was only going after white supremacists and homophobes right? Right? _ Dean thought. Another thing about Dean and thinking-- he was usually always deeply in denial.

**TWO WEEKS, SIX DAYS BEFORE THE BREAKING**

**SAM WINCHESTER**

My hand is supporting my face as I turn a page of “Cures and Reversals for Creature to Creature Transformations”. Bobby and Dean are working on the car, and I figured one of us had to research. It’s about eleven o’clock PM right now. Once the clock hits midnight, I’m checking on their progress, and then I’m hitting the sack.

I’m halfway down page 267 when I hear tinkling behind me. I turn around, confused.  _ Maybe it’s nothing. _

I turn back to my book and settle in. Plaster falls on the page.  _ I was never that lucky. _

I look up sharply as a loud  _ CRACK  _ runs through the air. 

Is something falling from the ceili--?  _ Holy shit _ . A long chain lunges to me and wraps itself around my neck-- what the hell, what the hell, what the  _ hell _ ?! 

The chain is tight as it recedes, taking me with it. I’m hanging, I’m going to die. I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe. Please, if anyone is listening, make this  _ stop  _ I can’t do this, I can’t take this, _ I can’t take this _ !

My view of the floor feet beneath my feet begins to haze in and out as air can’t get to my brain, and I feel my face flush. All I can do is uselessly kick at the air, at an invisible opponent, like a fish out of water.

I hear Michael’s rich laugh behind me, and it sends fear and horror through my whole body. I kick off a book from the desk as I feel him approach behind me, and dread sinks my heart.

I wake up in the chair.

I look up at the intact ceiling-- behind me in the kitchen, and-- nothing.

I was hallucinating. 

I sit back, not realizing how deeply I’ve been breathing, and try to calm myself down.

I need someone here, just to make sure this is happening, “Dean.” I call out. “Bobby?”

I walk out to the garage, preparing a speech in my head that can calm the two down but still alert them of the situation.  _ Ha, who are you kidding _ . They’ll worry themselves to death no matter what I say. I bite the inside of my lip. I still have to tell them though, if not to make sure they know, then just to settle my nerves, as emotional as that sounds.

I walk past a red, rusted sports car, and walk to the garage opening. I push the door open softly, and I see Bobby. I begin to walk towards him, then  _ I realize I’m walking into a conversation _ \-- “Seriously though, Bobby,” I pause and double take at my brother’s tone, glancing at him at him, “look at our lives. How many more hits can we take? So if Sam says he’s good,  _ good _ .”

_ I’m walking into a conversation about me. _

“You believe that?” Bobby asks.

“Yeah.”

I watch Bobby stare Dean down.

After a pause, he tells the truth. “No.” I look down. I hear him step to Bobby, “Wanna know why? Because we never catch a break. So why would we this time.” He stops. “I- just- just this one thing, y’know?”

Guilt creeps my mind. I really shouldn’t take this away from him, I really shouldn’t, but I have to.

“But I’m not dumb.” He sets down the tape. “I’m not gonna get my hopes up just to get kicked in the daddy pills again.”

I decide. I’m not going to bust his bubble because he needs this more than I do.

I step out of the shadows, “Hey.”

Bobby puts on a fake voice, “How you feelin’ sport?”

I smile, and tug at my fingers. “Can’t complain.”  _ I really can’t _ . I try for a laugh.

Dean glances at my bandaged hand. “What’s the word?”

I come with the news, “Well a publishing house literally exploded about an hour ago; guy’s got a body count that’s really getting up there. We gotta do something.”

Bobby counters, “What we’ve got to do is hunt the sonuvabitch.” Sarcastically he adds, “Unfortunately, I lost my God guns, so...”

I build, “Well I mean, is there some kind of heavenly weapon? Maybe something out of the angel arsenal that Balthazar stole? There has to be  _ something  _ that can hurt him.”

A moment of silence sweeps in. Bobby looks to the floor as he brainstorms. Dean’s face works the way he does when he’s thinking about what to say. For a moment, hope flushes me, but then Dean walks past, acceptance on his face, and it all dies. “He’s God, Sam. There’s nothin’.”

Bobby’s face relaxes, condemned. But then Dean adds, “But there might be some _ one _ .”

~~**SAM WINCHESTER** ~~

**CROWLEY, KING OF HELL**

I pour some wine to the demons that betrayed me. They believe I don’t know what they’ve been up to, but oh, I  _ do.  _ They believe that I’m here to congratulate them on a job well done, spying on a group of hunters in Colorado, but oh, I am  _ not.  _ They are going to pay for the hell they have caused me. I will feed them to the hellhounds and watch as they scream in pain, begging, “Oh please Crowley,” they’ll whine and whine and whine and  _ whine!  _ “don’t hurt us we didn’t mean it!” but they did, oh yes they did, and so they will pay. They will hurt and hurt and hurt and  _ hu-! _

My stomach is left behind as I step to the table with wine in hand. I blink, confused as I face a rusty, grimy shelf with tools. I blink again. It’s still a rusty, grimy shelf with tools.  _ Dammit.  _ I turn around and see an all too familiar face.

“No.” I turn forward completely and see the other two, “No, no!” My hands drop to my sides, “Come on.”

Singer walks forward with a confident gait that makes my blood boil. “Don’t act so surprised.”

“My new boss is gonna kill me for even  _ talking  _ to you lot.” I spit out venomously.

Squirrel speaks next. “Well you’re lucky we’re not stabbing you in your scuzzy face, you little piece of--”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Dean’s eyes flicker back behind him to Sam. “What new boss?”

I look him in the eyes, “Castiel; you  _ giraffe _ .” 

Winchesters are so bloody stupid, how have they survived this long?

Before I can continue contemplating the IQ’s of the human race, Singer interjects, “Is your boss?” Disbelief is strong in his voice.

“Is everybody’s boss.” They’re all so dumb. “What do you think he’s gonna do when he finds out we’re conspiring?”

They stare at me, still harsh, but the brief pause of silence after shows how blank the area behind their eyes are.

“You do want to conspire, don’t you?”

Singer finally utters a response, “No, we just want you to stand there and look pretty.”

Negotiations then. “Listening.”

Dean commands, “We need a spell.” I give him a look. “To bind death.” He clarifies.

Perhaps I didn’t hear right, because it sounds like these dumbasses are looking to do something so crazy it’s beyond unheard of. “Bind? Enslave death? You having a laugh?”

Dean says matter-of-factly “Lucifer did it.”

Dumb shit. “That’s Lucifer.”

“A spell’s a spell.” Moose adds. Why the hell is he trying puppy eyes on me. Now?! What the hell is wrong with these damn Winchesters?

I turn to him since he’s the brains of the operation for my next question. “You really believe you can handle that kind of horsepower? You’re delusional!” I yell.

Dean talks to me like a child, “Death is the only player on the board left that has the kind of juice to take out Cas.”

God, what kind of plan is this. “They’ll mash us both like peas.” Dean looks down. “Why should I help on a suicide mission?”

Singer steps forward. “Look, you really want  _ Cas  _ running the universe?”

It’s always that one damn smidge of logic.

I pour some meant-to-be-revenge wine.  _ To my time as the king of hell,  _ I silently toast,  _ soon to end. _

~~**CROWLEY, KING OF HELL** ~~

**LATER THAT NIGHT**

**SAM WINCHESTER**

I stare at the wood, splintered ceiling. I have tossed and turned for what--? 

I check the clock, it reads two AM. Three hours. I have been tossing and turning for three long hours. By myself, in my own bed, with only my brain to keep me company. Really, is there anything scarier?

I let out a weak laugh.  _ Sam Winchester. Apocalypse starter, demon blood junkie, demon lover, pretty much a whole-ass demon at this point for pity’s sake-- fighter of Lucifer, Michael, tortured in the Cage for centuries, a hunter for the entirety of his pathetic life, supposed to be a Man of Letters, studious learner who got into Stanford on a full ride. Afraid of facing his anxiety head on. _

I’m a laugh. What’s the saying? All tragedies are just comedies to the rest of the universe? Change up the narration a bit, huh? Make the Supernatural series by Carver Edlund funny and suddenly no one sees us as badass. I’m a regular Chandler Bing.

It’s so goddamn  _ sick _ . When I first found out about the Supernatural fandom, I was honestly disgusted. They “ship” Dean and I together. They put us in alternative universes, and make us young and old and make us nonhuman and make love to each other nonconsensually. But it’s okay because to them, we don’t exist. They don’t laugh at our pain but they sure do romanticize it. Hell, even if I wasn’t real would this be treatment I deserve? My story is full of pain and torture. I watched my brother die in front of me one hundred and some times. I went to Hell-- real Hell-- for centuries. Even if I wasn’t real, the romanticization of my story is messed to hell. My story is misery porn, so of course the people who enjoy it are bound to be sickos. I’m a person dammit, don’t I deserve the bare minimum respect?

Great. Now I’m angry at a fanbase because they hurt my feelings. Christ, I can’t do this anymore.

I sit up in bed, and rub at my eyes. I stand and straighten out my shirt as I walk to the door, opening it quietly and slipping down the staircase. I stroll into the living room and pick up a book on breaking down the bible in case I find something usable for this hunt. 

_ Honestly, at this point, don’t you think I’d know better than to read books alone, late at night, in Bobby’s house? _

As I flip pages listlessly, the floor boards behind me creak. I pretend not to notice, but slowly and casually reach for my knife in my pocket. As I grab the handle, a hand clasps my shoulder comfortingly, “Relax, Sammy, it’s just me.” 

I do and set down the book. I make ready to stand but as I lift myself up, the grip tightens. “Sit.” 

A foreboding feeling rushes my body. 

The hand leaves, but I know to sit. The boards creak from behind to the side. He walks away and I try to turn my head to look, but I can’t. I hear him grab something and fear ices my stomach as he walks back, dragging the object behind him. My mind races, is it a body? Is it Bobby? Is it Bobby’s body? He drags the chair in front of my view, in front of my chair, and sits in front of me.

I realize that I can move my head again. I look around and we aren’t in Bobby’s house anymore. The world shifted around me and I didn’t even notice.

White walls, white chairs. 

“Look at me.” My eyes snap to his green ones.

“We’ve got to talk.”

“Dean, what the hell--” he taps his knee with his finger and the words are snatched from my throat. I try to talk but nothing but a light gasping noise leaves me.

“Honestly,  _ geek boy _ , I was thinking smarty pants you woulda been smart enough to figure it out.”

I won’t react in anyway until I know what’s going on. I set my jaw and look him up down. 

He leans in a bit to stare me in the face, like a scientist casually amazed by a trivial yet fascinating experiment gone wrong. “I guess human love really is blind.” He leans back again, “I almost feel… not remorseful, but-- I don’t know,..  _ guilty  _ maybe?” He waves it off, “Point is, I don’t feel good about what I’m going to do right now. I think that you have earned that right, what with all your--” he waves his hand around at me, “ _ mortal _ compassion and loyalty over these years. Y’know for the record, it was cute, and I appreciated it, no--! Come on, don’t make that face. I really did. In the end your sacrifice will be honored by the host. I promise it’ll be worth it all in the end. Okay Sam?” He studies my face for a second. He looks annoyed for a moment before her realizes I still can’t talk. He taps his knee again. “Speak.”

“What will be worth what, Dean? What’s going on, and what the hell do you mean?” I try to stand up but I can’t. I push and strain but from the bored look on Dean’s face, I can tell I won’t go anywhere anytime soon. 

I sit down, still tense.

“Remember that…  _ fever dream  _ from a few nights ago?”

I slowly nod, “Wait, how the hell did you kno-” Another tap on the knee, another moment of forced silence.

“I know because I was there.” He takes a look, a real look at my face and continues, “Oh come on, Sam, I know humans are slow but this is just depressing.” He relaxes back, a disgusted look on his face, “Sam-- that wasn’t a dream, and we weren’t talking about a hypothetical. We were talking about real life. God I can’t believe I have to explain this-- I’m the archangel Michael. Lucifer cast me out and replaced me and I was reborn as your…” he swallows in revulsion, “ _ brother, _ ” he forces out, “and as fun as it was playing family with you, I’m done. I’ve got to kill Cas and restore heaven to its balance.” 

He stands up and I watch as he walks over the corner of the room, where a long machete appeared. I tense as he grabs it and examine the long shine of the blade.

“The reason I’m telling this to you now is because you’ve been a good pet and I think you deserve this much from me.” He takes a seat in front of me and sits resigned in the chair.

“Human souls are powerful. More powerful than any number of monster souls combined. When I take your soul and consume it, I will become much more powerful than Castiel.” He ignores my desperate attempt at speaking, asking,  _ questioning  _ what the hell is going on. I am in shock and while I’m too in disbelief to make sense of what is happening, I think my life is ruined.

“I wasn’t going to kill you originally, you should know. I was planning on taking a rando off the streets and eating him instead. That’s immoral though, and I really don’t want to piss off God anymore than I already have… Then I remembered that I have my own human right here! I raised you, gave you a decent life, and while I know now that you would have been happier if I had made sure you were actually, you know, happy, I didn’t know that back then, and I can’t really twist time back. You understand don’t you?” He taps his knee to let me speak again.

I open my mouth, but then I close it again, even though I can talk.

He looks confused, and a little disturbed. “Humans are complex, I don’t want to pretend I know what you’re trying to tell me. To be really honest, I never really even cared… Can’t you make this easy on me, Sammy?”

I feel tears drip from my eyes as it all sinks in. I swallow, and take a breath. “Sam.”

“What?” he says, exasperated.

“Sam.”

“I heard you. I  _ meant  _ what do you mean?” He asks, now just annoyed.

“It’s  _ Sam _ , not  _ Sammy _ .”

“Why do you even care? ‘Cuz ‘Sammy is a chubby twelve year old’? If you’re trying to buy time by keeping me talkin’, that won’t work. I’m an archangel, no help is com--”

“Sammy is your little brother,” I cut him off, “it’s Sam, okay?” That’s why I care.

“Okay…?”

I wipe my tears angrily, “Oh my god…” I mumble. This is  _ unbelievable.  _ I’m humiliated.

“What? Why are you being pissy about this thing?!” Dean snaps.

I stand up instinctively, and begin in a low voice, “I’m being pissy about this because I. am  _ not _ . Sammy. 

_ Sammy _ is the guy who drags his brother’s  _ ass  _ out of bars.  _ Sammy  _ is the guy who went to hell for his brother.  _ Sammy  _ is the guy who tried to kill himself when his brother died,  _ Sammy  _ is the guy who needs to sleep in the same area as his brother because he raised him and cared about him and loved like a damn mom, dad, and brother throughout their childhood because  _ there was no one left _ !  _ Sammy  _ is an idiot who loves his brother, and I am not  _ Sammy _ , I am  _ Sam _ , so shut the hell up and call. me.  _ SAM _ !” I end screaming. 

He shoves a hand out and I’m thrown against a wall. From his face I can see how rageful he is. “How  _ dare  _ you speak to me like that!”

An evil voice in my head whispers  _ Look at that, he only ever really cares about you when you’re being rude. _

Using his powers, from across the room, he slams me against the ceiling, hard enough that the wall begins to crack behind my back.

“You ingrate, I am Michael the Archangel. I raised you like a pig to the slaughterhouse, and I get that you are upset about that but it’s the truth. I need your soul here and now to save the universe, and I get that you’re hurt that I lied to you a few times but you need to grow up!”

He lets go and I slump to the ground in defeat. 

He walks forward, scary, tall, intimidating, and raises the long knife above his head. 

He slams it down on my torso and--

And I wake up.

“Sam! SAM! Are you okay?!” I wake to Dean shaking my shoulders back and forth above the bed. I wiggle from his grasp, but he leans down and lifts me up in a hug, practically crushing me.

“Dammit, man! Are you okay?! You were screaming and seizing and convulsing on the bed when I got up here.” He sets me on the bed, not too delicately I add.

“I- Yeah, man I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

“What happened?”

I open my mouth, but close it. What the hell do I say?   
“Sammy?”

Before I can stop myself, it slips out like a snake. “It’s Sam, not Sammy.”

_ Shit. _


	4. Song List Thing for Tree of Secrets Chapters (Not a chapter)

I don't know why people wanted this, but for some reason people did. 

Merry Chrysler.

Click [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1lkVBJos38CaKkPnQ9tifater8W8FLjy9a7jlsc3RJRo/edit?usp=sharing) for the list.


End file.
